I woke the next morning. The sun just appearing on the horizon. A roseate of water colors beginning to melt over the sky. The cars of my neighbors, quiet and unmoved, like stone. A thicker frost upon them unlike days prior. I noticed in a few moments the stillness, eerie, there was a quiescent appeal to the air around myself and the lengths of my neighborhood. I began to feel a clean, but not the tidy type of clean but one that sticks to the skin after a shower on a humid day. It was irritating and no matter how I tried to ignore the feeling or wipe away its thoughts upon me, it returned, and returned in an icy stare that refused to look away.
Nothing had changed. I was more aware of my morning than I had been for quite some time, but nothing was different. In that realization, my feelings of the mystique of this morning in solitude, the wife still wandering in what I hoped dreams of mirth and pinked memories, the feelings of familiarity returned of which I’ve had about the death of my mother. I felt a very loud death. A heat of anguish and anger seared within my chest, I felt sick inside. How dare the world be quiet at this moment and how dare people slumber away in their sugar dreams with relaxed bodies in warm beds! I had slept like shit. God damn it! How dare they not recognize my despair, the death of a part of me! How is it that I could not hear them scream as the very depths of my soul were screaming out in bloodied terror? How fucking dare this world!
It was then in that moment, I glanced down upon my hands that had not stopped sweating from the night before. I should be dry from all the tears I have shed all the sweat that has poured from my heart and body upon a ground I thought free for myself and my family. I was not dry, my soul ever drenched as the waters in feeling, overwhelming. In that moment, was The Fear, one of which I had forgotten, but had returned to pull me from my safety once again, The Fear, that once again would have me question a world where validation only matters to certain people. The Fear, I am The Fear, We are The Fear.
We were now walking amongst those fearless, the ones that have always been. It was more apparent, they could dine, and walk in parks hand in hand, they laughed never knowing a future of doubt, they were safe in their suburbs of superiority for themselves. I watched them eat at the ethnic restaurants, and listen to hip hop, and dress in their privileged attitudes. They were the untouchables and they didn’t even know it. We all could see it; my brothers and sisters could see it. How nice it must be to not know of the privilege that protects you from the very inequality you have created with green eyes and dirty fingers.
I felt broken as we all did. Deprivation of will, there was no quenching of this visceral monster. The Fear. It wasn’t enough to dream of monsters on the inside, there was their presence in our lives that walked among us. Those evils, the ones that have our children hanging from ceilings, the ones that have our children’s flesh seared with the stench of deadly wounds. We are the Fear. The places we held onto in our minds and in our days, faded away. Though we were many, we could somehow find ourselves alone in corners no matter where we turned, four walls were always present. The Fear, We are the Fear. This Fear is legitimate, organic. This Fear has an affiliation and we are the embodiment of it. The Fear, We are the Fear. We have always been the Fear.